


New in Town

by unicornsandbutane



Category: Crash Pad (2017), Logan Lucky (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bondage, M/M, Shibari, Spanking, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 18:11:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17730155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornsandbutane/pseuds/unicornsandbutane
Summary: It seems Stensland is eternally in search of a new room mate. When he takes a slightly more elevated position at the Madison, WV branch of Soft Solutions, he needs to find new accomodations ASAP. What a coincidence that bartender is also looking for a room mate! But, while touring the cottage, Stensland accidentally discovers Clyde’s jack-off fodder, and things progress from there.This was born from a twitter thread wishing to see novice dom! Clyde. So here is that. See end notes for more warnings.





	New in Town

**Author's Note:**

> So there’s no new chapter of From Raw Materials today because I’ve not been well enough to focus on that kind of research. But here is some quick and dirty bondage sex! *sad kazoo*

Even with the new job, Stens has trouble paying the rent on his apartment with Lyle and/or Grady gone. His searches for a room mate are disorganized and not particularly thorough, and he ends up just giving the key to the first person with a steady job that doesn’t sound like a cover for ‘dealer’. Never mix business with pleasure, after all. But the guy is loud. Loud music at all hours of the day and night, loud kickbacks with his friends, he even SNEEZES loudly. And soon it’s too much for his cow of a landlady. Despite his repeated apologies for the noise (that’s getting real old), he comes home one day to find an envelope taped to his door. Inside is what amounts to an eviction notice, blah blah blah covenant of quiet enjoyment blah. The new room mate bounces with a quickness, moves back in with his parents or girlfriend or something, and Stens is S.O.L. Again. He’s starting to get used to that. So he asks around his coworkers if they know anyone looking for a room mate. His manager says no, but he knows another branch is looking for an assistant manager. 

Assistant manager! That might solve Stensland’s money-scrounging problems. So he emails Corporate from a computer in the back office. The branch, it turns out, is not nearby at all. It’s in West Virginia. He’s never been that far south. He asks his manager, who hadn’t really looked at the job posting in depth, and references the wilds of the American south, and is corrected that West Virginia isn’t in ‘the South’ but is in fact in Appalachia which seems like splitting hairs when all Stensland knows of the United States is comprised of about ten places he frequents in this city, and the one time he and Lyle went to New York. 

But, what the fuck, anyway. Other than the job, this city hasn’t been too kind to him. And Assistant Manager sounds like an awfully grown up title. So he asks his manager to put in a good word for him, and then more or less forgets about it, largely expecting that nothing would come of it. He doesn’t really have a lengthy resume in the furniture and home decor industry after all. He’s just one man with a passion for nice things upon which to sit.

The call comes as he’s walking to work. He’s got a week left before he’s supposed to be out of his apartment, and hasn’t gotten very far with the hunt for a new one. He’s been distracted. The store just got a new shipment of wooly rugs and he’s spent a few days taking each one down from the display rack to lay it across the floor so he can get a feel of it. Lie on his back and on his stomach on it. He sells one to a mother after getting up from the cobra position on a pale lavender merino wool area rug and telling her it’s very soft on the face of her kids are fond of lying face-down to color or read or whatever children do. Board games? 

He’s thinking about a dark red oval-shaped rug he suspects they’re going to have a difficult time selling (he thinks the aesthetic of it is very I’m Covering Up A Large Obvious Blood Stain On My Carpet) when his phone rings with an unknown number. He almost ignores it, conscious about being late, but finally picks up on the third ring. It’s a manager from the West Virginia store. Conducting a phone interview. To his immense shock, it goes well. She thinks he’s funny, surmises that he’s incredibly well versed in the brand’s catalog, actually quizzes him about loveseat materials and the new rug collection. He tells the story about the mother and the purple rug. She digs it. It’s like he’s found his calling in soft furnishings. 

He paints over his daily affirmations the day before he gets on a greyhound bus. All of his belongings are either sold, given away, left by the curb, or stuffed into the two worn suitcases with which he came from Ireland. All of his shirts are packed around his bong, to cushion it. He’s ready to go. 

Handing over his bus ticket he thinks about the transfer in Detroit, and how long exactly he’d have to eat something before sitting on a bus for another eleven hours, and how much he can spend on a motel when he gets to Charleston so he can take another bus to Madison, West Virginia in the morning, and after THAT how much he’ll have to start ANOTHER apartment search in earnest. He knows virtually nothing about the place to which he’s moving, but he DOES have a job, and it’s got MANAGER in the title, so he assumes that’ll look good in his resumed hunt for housing. 

It’s a very very long bus trip. All told it takes him two days of travel before he’s combing his hair in front of a mirror at the Coal River Inn, the closest motel to the new furniture store where he’ll be training starting at nine the next morning. His best clothes are hung up behind him so they can get the wrinkles steamed out of them by the shower. He tells his reflection he can DO IT. He goes to find a drink. 

He’s not a heavy drinker. Certainly not after what Grady put him through. He just thinks that a cozy drink would help him relax after two solid days of being bumped along in a crowded bus with a sea of strangers, so he can be bright eyed and bushy tailed in the morning. Plus he doesn’t want to hotbox his motel room and get charged a smoking fee. So this’ll have to do. 

The first bar he finds is far, far too noisy with some sports game going on across too many big screen TVs. The next is attached to a hotel and the drinks are ridiculously priced. He asks a valet where he should go for a reasonably priced drink in relative quiet where he isn’t likely to be murdered by a man with a hook for a hand (those woods look a little dicey in the dark). The valet is unfazed and calmly gives directions. Ten minutes later Stensland finds himself in the carpark in front of an establishment quaintly called Duck Tape. 

An old-timer on the porch nods at him. Stensland supposes this means he won’t walk in to the comedic sound of a record scratch and dead silence as all eyes fall on the newcomer. In fact, when he pushes the door open it’s really just one person who looks up: the bartender. That’s just good customer service, and Stensland is all about good customer service. That’s what he’s out to prove anyway, tomorrow. He takes a seat at the bar, a respectful few seats away from the nearest big guy in plaid and a John Deere hat. The bartender makes his way over at a speed that Stens would call a ‘mosey’ if he was feeling folksy, and sets his hands on the bar to ask what it’ll be. Immediately Stensland’s eyes are drawn to the man’s prosthetic. It looks very high tech. He knows he oughtn’t stare but then the prosthetic is attached to a mountain of a man, with deep soulful eyes. Stensland has always thought that ALL bartenders ought to have that quality, that sort of face that you could confess all your woes to, but he’d been sorely disappointed by how few barkeeps were actually interested in talking to him. They are a BUSY bunch, and America isn’t much like the old movies. He squints at the bottles behind the bartender’s head, and struggles to read the taps. 

“I dunno, do you have any ciders?” Stensland asks, knowing they’re not so much of a thing in the US. 

“Just Angry Orchard, in bottles. You want that or?” 

Stensland considers. “Yeah, go on then. And could I do a half a pint of lager as well?”

“You could just ask for a snakebite, y’know,” the bartender says, and Stensland lights up. 

“You make me nostalgic for my uni days, sir. I’ll take your offer.” Most places he’d been in the US had been undecided on what a snakebite is. He’d had one comprised of cider and stout that made him feel as though he’d just eaten a loaf of apple flavored bread. He’d had one that was, inexplicably, a shot of whiskey with lime. He’d had one that appeared to be some mixture of gin, prosecco, and mint which cost him eleven whole dollars. This barkeep in this tiny backwoods bar knew what he was on about. Stensland liked him already. 

“So, where you from?” the bartender asks as he uncaps the cider with a hiss. Everyone always asks that, hearing his accent, so Stensland shrugs.

“Ireland. But I’m moving to the area.” Perhaps this bartender would have his robotic finger to the pulse of what a good place to look for apartments would be. Neighborhoods and the like. 

“No foolin’? What for?” Stensland looks around. His beanpole frame IS somewhat at odds with most of the clientele. Except the leggy girl with big hair who walks in and sits right beside him. “Oh hi, Mellie,” the bartender greets. 

“Hi yourself, Clyde,” she shoots back, clearly agitated about something. Stensland hopes he isn’t about to be party to a domestic. “You mad at me for somethin’? Feel like I don’t see you hardly ever since you moved out.”

The bartender, Clyde, glances at Stensland, clearly uncomfortable that a stranger is overhearing this. “Not mad about anything, no. Just figured you and Joe Bang might want some alone time, you know. To settle in.” 

“You can just call him Joe, you know. You don’t call Sylvie by her full name.” 

Stensland tries to piece together the relationship between these two people, from just this information. They could be exes trying to remain friends after the lady’s found a new man. But then, who is Sylvie? Perhaps the lady, Mellie, is in a polyamorous relationship with two people, Sylvie and Joe Bang. She IS very pretty. She could probably have her pick from the boys AND girls. Stensland has never been burdened with that sort of choice. 

“Plus,” Mellie goes on, “Joe’s brothers come round for dinner like two, three nights a week. I’d like to see MY brothers sometimes, too, you know?” 

Ahh, that solves it. They’re brother and sister. They previously lived together but the gentleman Clyde moved out so that his sister could have some privacy with her new beau, or perhaps her beau and belle. He isn’t clear on that part yet. 

“Yeah, I know.” Clyde pours half the bottle of cider into a pint glass, holds a spoon over top of it with his prosthetic hand. The fingers make an audible whirring sound and it’s one of the coolest things Stensland had ever seen. Clyde pours the lager over the spoon to keep the layers separated, slides it to Stensland neatly. It doesn’t have the blackcurrant cordial but he’d never even seen so much as a bottle of Ribena in the years he’d been in North America, so he figures this is close enough. He thanks Clyde with a nod. 

“You know Jimmy’s comin’ up to visit this weekend. Bringing Sadie too. You should stop by. She’s still doin’ that little cooking class. You could teach her some mocktails.” 

Sadie, Stensland gleans, must be a child. Clyde’s niece, perhaps. Mellie seems awfully insistent about Clyde spending time with her. Stensland hasn’t worked out which one of them is the lonely one, that she’s so concerned with quality time between them. 

“Guess so. That’s just juice though, and I thought Bobbie Jo didn’t want her kids having too much sugar.” He towels the bar down, and Mellie scoffs. 

“Are you just determined to be alone all the time?” she huffs, crossing her arms and tossing her hair. She has that blow dryer smell of a hair salon. “Weren’t you gonna find a room mate or somethin’ at least?” 

Clyde shrugs. “Haven’t got around to it yet.” He wanders off, asking the regulars about refills, but Mellie is not put off. Stensland, meanwhile, has perked up. WHAT a coincidence that basically the first person he’s spoken to is also looking for a room mate! That’s basically fate. That’s like if he opened a fortune cookie and it gave Clyde’s name. He thinks Clyde is a cool name, too. Not like Stensland, which sounds like an obscure breed of terrier. Of course, they haven’t OFFICIALLY introduced themselves, as yet. 

Mellie has raised her voice. “I’ll just tell Jimmy to bring Sadie to your place then. I do know where you live, you know.” 

“Sure, that’s fine,” Clyde says easily. Stensland gets the feeling Clyde’s family worries about him. Probably because he lost a hand in some kind of accident. It looks a bit like they don’t trust him to be on his own, poor chap. “You want a seltzer water or somethin’, Mellie? I assume you’re drivin’.” 

“No, never mind. Don’t forget, about this weekend though.” She stands from her chair. “You’re Sadie’s favorite uncle.” 

“I’m her only uncle, unless Moody has a brother we don’t know about,” Clyde mumbles, filling a pint glass with foamy lager for another patron at the bar.

Mellie snorts. “It’s not the Chapmans who keep secrets. That’s what the Logans do best.” 

With that cryptic statement, she stands from the bar and makes her way outside. Moments later there’s a roar of a supercharged engine and a squeal of tires. That woman must drive like an absolute maniac. In the comfortable quiet that follows, Stensland tries to catch Clyde’s eye. 

“So I overheard you might be looking for a room mate,” he says, trying not to sound desperate. “Of course I understand if you prefer your solitude. If you want to be a lone black vulture, free to spread your wings and soar high over the Andes, don’t let me stop you. I only bring it up because Im very new in town, as in, I just got to West Virginia today, so I’m going to be in need of accommodations within the very near future.” 

“Not here for family then, I guess,” Clyde drawls. 

“No, I’ve been transferred to the branch of my company here.” There, that sounds like something a responsible adult says.

“What company is that?” Clyde’s organic hand works at cleaning the inside of a row of glasses. His prosthetic one clinks on the glass. 

“Soft Solutions? It’s a furniture and home decor chain.”

“I know it. Bought a lamp there.” 

Stensland reins in the impulse to ask which one and compare it to other models. Instead he says, “I’m meant to be starting as assistant manager there tomorrow. I know it sounds crazy to move to another state just to shift from Sales Associate to Assistant Manager, but. I was having a bad time up north anyway.” / Don’t sound like a madman who cries for three weeks when a married woman breaks your heart/, he tells himself. /Try to imagine being a normal person for once in your life./

“Was it the people or the weather?” Clyde asks, like he actually wants to know, and soon they’re chatting merrily while Clyde fixes drinks. Then, at 2AM when the bar closes, Clyde agrees to let Stens come see his place, to decide if it’s the sort of place he’d like to live. Stensland knows he has to be at work in 7 hours, but he’s only had the one drink. He’ll be alright, and it’ll be better if he gets this housing thing sorted. 

Clyde drives a very tall, very new truck. When Stensland comments on it, Clyde explains that his brother’s ex-wife married a guy who owns a few car dealerships, and was able to help him out. It seems that his family is very close, even with all of their extended connections. Stensland nods. He wonders if he’ll have to buy a car to get around. Likely the winters would make a bicycle impractical. 

Clyde’s house is a little cottage at the end of a driveway in the woods. It’s a little 60s looking with the wood paneling and the diamond shaped windows in the door, but it’s charming, and Clyde immediately sets his coffee pot to boil some water for them, for some decaf tea. Good lord, if Clyde reached across the breakfast island and held his hand, Stensland is fairly sure he’d fall in love with him right then.

“So the spare room is a bit cluttered right now, but I’d move all that stuff if you decided to move in,” Clyde explains, opening a door while the water heats up. Stensland peers in. There are free weights and boxes and honestly a complete hodgepodge of things taking up most of the floor space, but it’s got wood floors and a window. He picks his way over to the closet to get a look at how much storage space he’d have, slides open the mirrored door, and immediately jumps out of the way of a cascade of books falling off a shelf. 

“Oh, uh...” Clyde grunts, embarrassed. One of the books has fallen open, showing a glossy photograph of a nude girl in elaborate rope bondage. Clyde hurries to pick the books up and hide them again but Stensland can see enough of their covers to tell that all five of them are about the same subject. 

“Um, I like to smoke weed, and I’ve seen all of Dawson’s Creek like five times,” Stensland blurts, to ease the tension. 

Clyde frowns at him. “It... you’ll laugh. My GP suggested that in order to get used to this new hand I should practice tying knots. Then when I was looking at knot tying tutorials I found all this stuff on shibari. And I guess I liked it. So. Now I guess you know that.” 

He looks so lost, Stensland’s heart skips a beat. “It’s good to learn new things about yourself,” Stensland proclaims philosophically. “Don’t worry I’m not going to judge you,” he adds. He figures all men have something that gets their blood pumping which they wouldn’t want to discuss in polite company. “Did you end up getting better at tying knots?” Stensland isn’t sure asking about Clyde’s masturbatory fodder is the best thing to do when touring a potential apartment but now it’s out there and they’ll both have to deal with it. 

“Yes,” Clyde states, and he gives Stensland a look that makes his ears go hot. He’s sure it’s not on purpose. Stensland has to remind himself not to act so fucking mental. Just because he’s hardly ever attracted to men (he prefers to think of himself as ‘heteroflexible’), and Clyde just happens to be exceptional enough— the rare kind of man Stensland likes, that’s no excuse to run that all over Clyde who has pictures of naked /girls/ in bondage. Stensland glances toward where Clyde hid the books again, imagines the position he’d seen on the open page. It looked uncomfortable, the girl poised on the ball of her right foot while her left leg curved back and was bound to her thigh, elaborate knotwork in red rope crossing her torso, keeping her body tense as a cord connected her ankle to her back, her wrists bound beneath her shoulder blades, ropes extending up out of frame to keep her suspended. 

“I’ve never been tied up,” Stensland says. “Not even handcuffs or anything. But I do like to be choked so maybe that’s a little similar? Maybe not though. Also you didn’t need to know that because I’m here to look at your spare room not tell you what gives me an erection. How much is the rent?” He knows he’s babbling. He’d thought he’d been getting better about the whole verbal filter thing, working in a public-facing role. But, Clyde’s eyes are just, just LANCING through him. It makes him nervous and sweaty. 

“Well. I could give you some books to look at I guess. If you wanted to know more about it.” Clyde is ignoring the question about the rent on purpose, it seems, but he’s also ignoring Stensland’s confession about his asphyxiation kink so there’s that. “There’re knots to restrict airflow but that’s considered dangerous.” Well. Maybe he wasn’t ignoring it, really. Stensland swallows thickly and can’t help but wonder if having Clyde press his prosthetic hand to his windpipe would be like being choked out by the terminator, but in a sexy way. He’s beginning to think it would. This is not great territory to be treading into with a prospective room mate. But. Christ, the way Clyde is looking at him. It must be approaching 3AM and Stensland’s mouth has gone dry. He licks his lips. The coffee pot in the kitchen beeps to tell them the water is ready. Stensland might be ready to make another life-altering mistake. 

“You er, must have ropes and such, too. To practice with,” Stensland stutters. 

“Yep. They’re in that closet too. The shibari ones are real soft, actually. I started practicing with nylon rope from the sporting goods store at first but it’s not as flexible. You get better knots from natural fibers.” He brushes past Stensland, touching his arm as he bends to fetch a looped length of rope from within the closet. It’s emerald green and looks well cared for. “This one’s linen. Here, get a feel of that.” 

He holds it out for Stensland to stroke. It IS soft. Stensland thinks he might be blushing. He wants Clyde to say something like, ‘that color would really bring out your eyes.’ He swallows again. 

“Do you want to feel what it’s like, just around your wrist, say?” He says it like he’s offering Stensland a taste of a new food, but Stensland’s heart rate is picking up speed. He unbuttons his cuff, rolls his sleeve up. “You’ve got some skinny wrists, there, Stensland. No offense.” 

Stensland shakes his head. “None taken.” He extends his hand, allows Clyde to loop the rope around his wrist, tie it off with a fancy knot. The tail of the rope trails, with the rest of it clenched in Clyde’s fist. Stensland looks at that, the way it makes him feel like he’s on a leash. When he moves his hand, tries to lift it to his hair, the slack tightens, and he finds he can’t raise his land any higher than mid chest. Clyde is STRONG. He gives Stensland a bit more slack after a few seconds. Stensland lets out a shaky breath.

“Do you maybe want to do the other one?” Stensland asks, offering his free wrist. 

Clyde looks at him for a long moment. “Are you really offering just that, or is there more stuff on the table?”

“Oh, fuck. Um. Yes. More stuff, I think. I’m new to this, though, Clyde, and I’m not... the most thrilling specimen with my clothes off.” 

Clyde yanks the rope, causes Stensland to stumble forward a half step. “Bullshit. You’re gonna look so pretty all tied up,” he breathes, and Stensland feels a hot rush in his belly. “C’mon.” 

Stensland lets himself be led by the rope around his wrist into Clyde’s bedroom. Suddenly and viscerally he wants to be tied to the bed. He wants to be twisted up like a Target pretzel, bent into whatever position Clyde thinks is most attractive. His knees feel almost gelatinous as Clyde moves around the room, clearing the bed, making it ready, but never once letting go of the end of the rope. Stensland begins to harden in his pants. 

“So. Tell me what you don’t like.” Clyde sits on the far side of the bed and beckons Stensland to slide into the middle of it. He doesn’t start undressing Stensland, or tying him any further. He just stays close, watching him. 

“Oh. Er. I don’t know a lot about this, Clyde. Don’t you have like a Christian Grey checklist or something, and I can just fill in a form for you?” 

Clyde laughs quietly and Stensland wants to squirm. 

“I’m not a pro at this either, if it helps. Do you want to undress?” Clyde asks, easily shifting the way he’s leading this experience. Stensland flushes and begins unbuttoning his shirt. They have to thread the rope through the sleeve, and the same with the undershirt. Then he hesitates a little, getting to his trousers. “We can do this over your pants if you want,” Clyde offers, but then Stensland screws his courage to the sticking place and shoves his trousers and underwear off, kicks them off the bed. Clyde lets out a low whistle. “Baby...” he says, but then trails off. “Is it alright if I call you stuff like that?”

“Yes please,” Stensland yelps, startled by his body’s reaction to the pet name. His cock twitches visibly. 

“And what else? Do you just wanna get tied up for a while and then I’ll let you go, or...?” He leaves the other option open-ended. Stensland chews his lips, tries not to make a fool of himself. 

“I think... I want you to tie me up and then. Er. Make me suck your cock. Is that too boringly vanilla for you?” It’s just, he’s looking at the line of Clyde’s cock in his jeans and he wants it in his mouth, intensely. “You could spank me or choke me too, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“How do you feel about tit torture?” Clyde reaches under the bed, pulls out a black box that looks like it ought to hold fishing lures, but when he opens it, Stensland boggles at the array of... STUFF in there. 

“I dunno, I don’t have tits,” Stensland protests, fighting the urge to cross his arms over his chest. 

“You got cute little pink nips, though. And I’m pretty sure one of these’ll still fit you, tits or no,” Clyde replies, lifting up some little rubber objects, each one a tube with a squeezy ball on the end. “You put this hole over the nip, see, and you squeeze here, and then it sucks your nip tight. Sound good?” 

Stensland likes the matter-of-fact way Clyde explains it. His cock has risen enough that it stands away from his body. He nods, biting his lip hard. Fuck, Clyde could probably tell him to stand up and quack like a duck and he’d do it for him. “Oh, I don’t want to be blindfolded though. I wanna see you,” he urges. 

“That’s fine,” Clyde answers readily. “Alright you sit tight. I’m gonna go get one of my books so I can decide how I wanna tie you. Won’t be long.”

He leaves Stensland to quietly poke through the box. Fucking hell, he thinks, yawning, if he didn’t have to be at work in six hours or so he’d probably ask Clyde to give him a practical demonstration of everything in there. Clyde comes back, flipping through a different book than the one he’d seen before. 

“How’s this?” Clyde asks, showing the picture to Stensland for his approval. It shows a man perched on a midnight blue microfiber loveseat. His calves are bound to his thighs, and his arms bound behind him. Ropes lead from his knees to out of frame, presumably tied around the legs of the furniture, so his legs are held open. His cock stands proudly, somewhat obscuring the knots on his chest, which bind his upper arms to his sides, loop around the base of his neck, harness his pectorals, and frame his navel. Stensland’s breath hitches. Could he look like THAT, all on display for Clyde? 

“Y-yeah, sounds like a plan,” Stensland mumbles. Clyde gives him a slow smile. 

“Good. Alright then. Lets get to work.” 

It takes Clyde a while to get through the several pages of instructions, relying mostly on his right hand. Stensland gamely moves where he’s told, more and more restrained as Clyde continues to loop the ropes around him. The cords feel soft and good, and he almost wishes they’d done the NEXT rig in the book, which cages a man’s cock with carefully placed lines. Once Stensland is immobilized though, Clyde puts the book to the side, picks up the nipple sucker things Clyde had shown him before. He doesn’t expect the way they’ll feel, especially when Clyde flicks them experimentally a few times. The strange sharp pleasure-pain has his cock leaking fat drops on his belly and he wheezes hungrily. He wants to reach for Clyde, wants to tweak the little rubber toys himself, but of course he can’t move. He doesn’t think the rubber things are very attractive but FUCK they feel good. 

Clyde velcros a strap to Stensland’s ankle, leads a wire up to the tip of Stensland’s cock before showing what’s in his hand. It looks like a little plastic cup wearing tiny headphones. “This here will go over the head of your cock, and these vibrate. Sound good?” Clyde offers. Stensland nods and watches as Clyde fits it over his tip with a little room at the end, like the reservoir of a condom. He touches the controller affixed to Stensland’s ankle and the little black buds on either side of the cocksleeve start to vibrate. Stensland almost chokes. He jerks in his bindings, but he can’t move, and that’s when it hits him. Clyde really could do anything to him while he’s tied like this, including teasing his cock like this until he cries, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

“Holy shit,” Stensland gasps, blinking rapidly at the ceiling. The vibrations feel good, but it’s a tease. He squirms some more, clenching his muscles to try to get a little more stimulation, but there’s nothing else touching his cock or his hole. All he can do is try to endure it. He sags in the ropes, whining. 

“Oh you’re gonna be loud, I can tell,” Clyde murmurs. “We got these woods to ourselves babydoll so let it all out.” 

“Shit! Fuck!” Stensland’s head thrashes from side to side on the pillow. “You don’t wanna gag me maybe, for the sake of my dignity?” 

Clyde snorts. “Nope.” He turns to his toy box. “Let’s see now,” he murmurs to himself, rummaging around, leaving Stensland to writhe as his cock begins to leak into the sleeve. 

“Hope this thing is sanitary because I’m pretty well filling it with precome right now,” Stensland mutters belatedly. There are tears in his eyes. This is torture. It’s been maybe a minute, and it’s torture. 

“Oh, yeah I haven’t had a chance to use it on anyone yet. You’re the first,” Clyde admits, coming up with a small leather paddle. 

“Um. Is this... what you imagined?” His legs shake in his restraints, and his belly and ass are twitching, his pelvic floor tense and ready for an orgasm that seems just out of reach. 

Clyde looks at him, really studies him, from his flushed cock, his quivering muscles, his red, sweaty face, hair all over the place, and gives him a heated glance. “Oh, yeah, babydoll. Do you want me to spank you with a plug in your ass?”

Stensland keens loudly. “Fuck, yes, I need more, I need it!” Clyde is still sitting fully clothed beside him. Stensland hopes he hasn’t forgotten about feeding him his cock. 

“Okay, but first, I think you’ll like this...” He pulls out a very wide collar, and slips it under Stensland’s neck to buckle it up in the front. “It’s called a posture collar. Do you like that?” Stensland swallows, thrills at the light constriction to his windpipe. Now his head is locked in place, and part of him doesn’t like not being able to follow Clyde’s movements as well, but the pressure on his throat makes his lashes flutter with every breath. 

“Yeah,” he pants. “I like it.” He can’t say much else before there’s cold lube being rubbed across his hole. He wishes he could bend to watch Clyde’s big hand opening him, but can’t do anything but /feel it/ as he’s fingered open enough for a plug to slide in. He sobs. His rim is so sensitive, and the plug doesn’t hit him DEEP like he needs. “Please, please,” he begs, as Clyde flicks the nipple suckers some more, makes Stensland screech with overstimulation. 

“Please what, darlin’?” The flicking doesn’t relent. Stensland feels like he’s going to burst. He’s going to spontaneously combust. He’s gonna break down and cry. 

“Please spank me!” He needs to feel SOMETHING more, something that’ll ground and center him because the vibrations in his cock are making him feel like he’ll just float away. He’s going to go mad. “Spank me, please please please,” he babbles, straining. 

The first hit comes without warning, against his ass, jolting the plug. Stensland sucks in an undignified sound, stares wild-eyed at the ceiling. Then there are three in succession and Stensland starts to moan brokenly, a short “ah, aH, AH!” rising up out of him as the sharp strikes warm his ass and rattle the plug. Fuck, it /hurts/ but it’s almost a relief against the vibrating sleeve. 

Suddenly, Clyde’s right hand comes down on Stensland’s balls and Stensland shrieks. “Yes!” he cries, shocked at himself. Clyde resumes paddling him, and every now and then smacks Stensland’s balls hard. Stensland is balanced on a knife’s edge. “Oh, fuck oh fuck, CLYDE! Oh god I could come all over from this. Please, please, have mercy,” he pleads. 

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to fuck your mouth?” Clyde reminds him, and Stensland sobs, tears running into his hair. 

“Yes. Yes please, Clyde. Wanna suck your soul right out through your dick.” 

Clyde laughs, but then Stensland hears the click of a zipper, and the weight shifts on the bed. Straddling Stensland’s chest, pants and underwear pushed down just enough to get under his balls, Clyde bumps a thick cock against Stensland’s lips. With the posture collar in place, Stensland couldn’t move away even if he wanted to, but then there’s a hand in his hair, pulling, making him gasp, and as soon as his lips open, Clyde begins shoving his cock between them. Stensland melts into it. Lapping at the underside of Clyde’s cock, he feels like nothing else exists in the whole world. Clyde’s hand in his hair is unrelenting, and all Stensland can do is relax his jaw and let his mouth be fucked. He lets his eyes close. He’s completely under Clyde’s control, and it’s blissful. He doesn’t have to think about anything except keeping his teeth out of the way of the delicious cock thrusting over his tongue. He hums contentedly. 

“Yeah, moan for me, let me feel it,” Clyde rasps, voice strained. Stensland does. Once he’s started, he can’t stop, and soon he’s moaning almost continuously, practically singing around Clyde’s cock. He clenches around the plug. He’s so hard it aches. 

“You want me to fuck your ass, too?” Clyde asks, and Stensland can’t really nod with the posture collar, and his throat full of cock, but he tries. 

Clyde pulls out of Stensland’s mouth, and Stensland whines, despite knowing he can’t have his cock and eat it too. He hiccups when the plug is pulled out of him, and then moans a sustained high note as he hears Clyde shuffling a condom on before sliding all the way into him. 

“Shit, yes!” Stensland squeaks, practically cross eyed with pleasure. His ass is sore and raw from the spanking, stings a little when Clyde’s hips hit it, but fuck his cock feels incredible. “Oh goddamn it, Clyde, stuffing me so good!” The angle is just right, and he’s been teased so long it feels like /heaven/ to be speared on a fat cock. 

“Yeah?” Clyde asks breathlessly, “you like that?” His right hand moves down to where they’re joined, brushes fingers against Stensland’s stretched rim. Seemingly on a whim, he presses a fingertip in alongside his thick cock, pulls a little at Stensland’s hole. Stensland squeals and strains. God, Christ, it’s /so fucking much/ but he’s never felt so fucking DOMINATED in his life. Clyde observes him, slips his finger out of him again and pets down Stensland’s thigh, as much as he can, over the ropes. “You gonna come soon, angel?” 

Stensland whines and squirms. “I swear to you, touch my cock and I’m going to come like a fucking geyser. I’m gonna come on your ceiling fan. I’m gonna come so hard my past lives will cross spacetime to say ‘thank you’.” He’s shaking violently in his restraints. Clyde takes pity, removes the sleeve, and strokes him solidly with his right hand. The left is cold, metal fingers digging bruises into his skin, but Stensland can only hitch, and sob, and come all over his belly and chest, tears blurring his vision as it seems to go on and on. He screams himself hoarse, and Clyde keeps touching him, past the point of overstimulation, before reaching under Stensland’s balls, pressing just behind them just as he nails his prostate with his cock, and Stensland nearly blacks out. Come oozes from his spent cock and he shudders, unsure if it feels good or hurts. Or both. 

“Tell me it feels good,” Clyde commands, hips speeding. 

“Oh god, so good,” Stensland moans pitifully, deciding just then that he loves making Clyde feel good.

“Call me ‘Sir’ when you do it.”

“Oh FUCK, yes sir! It feels amazing, so good inside, so fucking BIG goddamn it, so, SO good, sir!” If this keeps up, Stensland is gonna come again and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle it. 

“That’s right, baby,” Clyde growls, and then he’s coming. He leans over, so Stensland can watch his face pinch in ecstasy. He’s fucking gorgeous, and Stensland wants to say so, but all he can do, fucked out and overwhelmed, is cry out at the way Clyde stabs into him as he rides it out. Stensland’s nerves feel electrified, and Clyde is lighting up every one of them. Christ his O face is beautiful, eyebrows pinched, eyes closed, mouth hanging open as he grunts it out, filling the condom. After what seems like forever, but is also too soon, Clyde slows down, panting, and finally slides out. Stensland is exhausted. He’d like to spread out with Clyde in the bed, maybe smoke a bowl with him, but he’s still tied like a rodeo calf. 

“Was that, er. What you’d envisioned when you first discovered this particular predilection?” Stensland tries to joke, but he realizes as soon as he’s said it that he actually needs to know.

Clyde leans back on his heels , heaving a satisfied sigh as he pulls off the condom and tucks his dick back into his boxers. “Yeah. Darlin’ you were perfect.” He pets down Stensland’s flank, over the ropes. “Here let me help you out of all that.”

Later, Stensland is sitting on the bed, feeling the imprints of the ropes and knots on his skin. Clyde goes to finally make their tea. It’s past 4AM, and Clyde’s said that Stensland can sleep at his place and Clyde will drive him to the furniture store in the morning. It all sounds good. So of course Stens has to ask the burning question:

“By the way, are you still looking for a room mate?”

**Author's Note:**

> Further warnings:  
> \- No safe words are discussed  
> \- Clyde introduces a few toys without fully explaining what they are first. 
> 
> Hope y’all enjoyed!


End file.
